


It's not about the glasses

by smudgesofink



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, In which Yuuri has a bad day and stressbakes, Light Angst, M/M, and Victor is doing his Best (TM)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 21:18:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12590728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smudgesofink/pseuds/smudgesofink
Summary: "It's just going to get dirty again."“Then I’ll clean it again,” Victor says, soft and sincere, like it’s a promise, a love confession, instead of a casual reassurance. His fingers curl themselves around Yuuri’s nape, playing with the dark hair. He leans forward to press a kiss on Yuuri’s forehead. “However many times you need.”Yuuri stares at him, at a loss for what to say.He glances down at Victor’s warm hands against his cheeks, holding him as if he’s something worth taking care of, as if Yuuri is worth all the effort in the world despite everything he’s done wrong. Yuuri’s chest aches with something he can’t name. He looks back up at Victor’s lovely ocean eyes.“Really?”(In which Yuuri’s glasses are a metaphor for his heart, and Victor fixes both.)





	It's not about the glasses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [haedraulics](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=haedraulics).



> This took me waaaay to long for such a short fic. D:
> 
> Anyway, have some good old fluff and angst fest, guys!

It isn’t a well-known fact that Katsuki Yuuri knows how to bake.

Maybe that’s because a) Yuuri doesn’t particularly like sharing facts about himself, and b) he’s only done on a few occasions before. Those occasions being that time in college when he seriously thought he was going to fail in Macro-economics class, that time he waited three hours for a blind date before realizing he’s been stood up, and the time after he had just blown his then once-in-a-lifetime chance of competing in the Grand Prix Finals. There’s clearly an unspoken theme going on here.

And today, Yuuri’s baking again.

…It hasn’t been a good day. ~~Clearly~~.

(Or a good week, if Yuuri is going to be honest, and at this point he’s simply too exhausted to be anything but honest with himself.)

It hasn’t been a good day, no.

If anything, it’s been the _complete_ opposite of a good day, it’s been utterly terrible; Yuuri kept flubbing jumps left and right during practice—enough times that Yurio didn’t bother to cackle at him anymore and actually looked kind of concerned at the end. He’d forgotten to pick up groceries like Victor had reminded him to do, he tripped on a crack on the sidewalk on the way home and gave himself a bruised knee, and tonight, he somehow managed to fuck up their dinner.

_I made Victor burnt chicken breast,_ Yuuri remembers and resists the urge to bang his head against the kitchen counter. He settles for pounding the doughy mixture in front of him harshly.

Honestly, the only other reason Yuuri’s even stressbaking (is that a word? It better be. Yuuri’s too done with things to care about whether it’s a word or not) is because he wanted to make it up to Victor.

Which is proving to be impossible now, because things seem to be going very wrong very quickly for Yuuri, and the dough won’t cooperate. It remains clumpy and goo-like, regardless of the amount of flour Yuuri keeps adding to keep it from sticking.

_This is it,_ Yuuri thinks darkly as he kneads and kneads and kneads the stupid dough, _this is how Victor’s going to kick me out of his house. I’m going to be baking him shitty bread after burning dinner and he’s going to break up with me. I’ll be homeless in Russia and my fiancé will leave me and I won’t be able to see Makkachin again—_

His glasses slip down from the bridge of his nose and falls lens first, right into the sticky mess of dough.

Yuuri stares at it for a moment, and then forces himself to take a slow breath.

He just can’t do anything right, can he?

He messed up. He messed up _again,_ for the _millionth time today,_ and no matter how many chances he’s given, Yuuri won’t be able to make it any better because he’s such a sad, pathetic—

“Yuuri.”

Yuuri turns, hands clenched and lips pursed, and sees Victor coming out of the bedroom while glancing at the glasses stuck in the dough. It makes Yuuri’s face burn in humiliation, being caught in the act of messing up. Victor looks slightly amused but mostly worried, which says a lot about what Victor thinks about this situation. He offers Yuuri a tired smile as he comes close. “My, my. What happened here?”

“Nothing,” Yuuri snaps before he can help himself and immediately feels like the world’s biggest asshole when Victor blinks in surprise.  “Sorry,” he says and shakes his head, looking down to his hands and away from Victor. The supposed-to-be apology dough looks like it’s mocking him. “I meant it’s fine. Everything’s fine. My glasses just slipped, is all.”

“Oh,” Victor says, and then grins. “I’ll clean it for you.”

“No need.” Yuuri picks up his glasses with a plan to set it aside only Victor beats him to it, plucking the dirty glasses out of Yuuri’s hand.

Yuuri sighs. “Victor—”

“Let me,” Victor insists and kisses Yuuri’s cheek as he passes by him on the way to the sink. Yuuri watches as Victor thoroughly rinses the dough off the lenses and the frame, before using the hem of his shirt to wipe the glasses dry.

There’s something in the way he does it that makes Yuuri’s heart hurt—Victor dries it meticulously, carefully, like Yuuri’s glasses are just as important to him as Yuuri is.

Finally, Victor inspects the glasses, deems it good enough, and walks toward Yuuri with a satisfied grin.

“You didn’t have to,” Yuuri half-heartedly protests.

“I wanted to,” Victor hums back. He stops right in front of Yuuri to put his glasses for him, sliding it on with utmost care. There’s a tiny smile on his lips as he does so. “There. All clean.”

“Thanks,” Yuuri says and then proceeds to push his glasses up with a dough-covered hand. Yuuri stops breathing. He freezes, horrified, and shuts his eyes tight in regret. “Oh, _god, I’m sorry—_ ”

Victor huffs out a laugh, taking off the glasses again.

Yuuri has half a mind to stop him. “Victor, I’m so sorry—please don’t, just leave it—”

“Let me,” Victor repeats on the way back to the sink, turning a deaf ear to Yuuri’s words. With his back to Yuuri and his expression indecipherable, Victor opens the tap. “It’s okay,” He says, even though Yuuri knows it’s anything but.

As Victor rinses his glasses for the second time around, Yuuri turns back to the dough with a grimace. It’s already becoming more like dough and less like batter, but Yuuri is pretty sure he used too much flour now and the bread will end up dry. _So much for an apology bread,_ Yuuri thinks, crestfallen. He resumes kneading it anyway, trying to salvage what he can and ignoring the frustration that’s welling up within him.

Not even an hour with Victor again and he’s already made a douchebag and an idiot of himself. Yuuri thinks of all the messes he caused throughout the day and swallows heavily. Though he’s been so patient and so sweet, surely Victor is sick of having to clean up after him all the time?

Yuuri can almost see it—just one more mistake, one more slip up, and Victor will frown instead of laugh, will finally reach the end of his patience and drop the smile he’s been putting on for Yuuri. Victor will finally stop saying that it’s okay.

If Yuuri’s lucky, maybe Victor will just leave him alone until he can get his shit together.

If not, maybe Victor will leave for good, maybe he’ll realize that this was a mistake, that being with Yuuri is a mistake, since he’s clearly unable to do even the smallest things properly—

“Yuuri!”

Yuuri startles and looks up. Victor marches in front of him again, smiling proudly as he holds up Yuuri’s clean glasses. He stays perfectly still as Victor slides his glasses on, tucking it carefully behind his ears. When Victor grins, bright and loving, Yuuri suddenly gets a very real fear of touching his glasses again, or having them fall again, making them dirty once more after all the effort Victor exerted to clean them.

Yuuri’s heart sinks to his gut. Knowing his luck today, he’s bound to commit a mistake. ~~Victor is bound to end up disappointed in him.~~

“You didn’t have to clean it,” Yuuri mutters just as much, looking tiredly at Victor, and hopes Victor understands the apology behind his words. “It’s just going to get dirty again.”

Yuuri half-expects Victor to roll his eyes, or at least to say, “I know.”

Instead, Victor’s smile melts into something tender. He looks at Yuuri, cradling his face in his hands, and brushes the hair away from Yuuri’s eyes fondly.

“Then I’ll clean it again,” Victor says, soft and sincere, like it’s a promise, a love confession, instead of a casual reassurance. His fingers curl themselves around Yuuri’s nape, playing with the dark hair. He leans forward to press a kiss on Yuuri’s forehead. “However many times you need.”

Yuuri stares at him, at a loss for what to say.

He glances down at Victor’s warm hands against his cheeks, holding him as if he’s something worth taking care of, as if Yuuri is worth all the effort in the world despite everything he’s done wrong. Yuuri’s chest aches with something he can’t name. He looks back up at Victor’s lovely ocean eyes.

“Really?” Yuuri whispers quietly, hands trembling.

Victor’s smile crumbles apart in confusion and worry alike. “Yuuri?” he asks.

There’s a tight lump of emotion forming in Yuuri’s throat. It’s difficult to breathe, all of a sudden. Yuuri blinks, once, twice, and then Victor becomes a blur and there are tears falling down his face, fogging up his glasses, and he’s crying inside Victor’s hold before he realizes it.

“W-Would you r-really?” Yuuri hiccups again.

“Yuuri,” Victor breathes out as he tries to wipe away the tears with his thumb. “Of course! Anything for you, love. I’d clean them a million times.”

Yuuri chokes on a relieved sob, and closes his eyes tightly, feeling lost and broken and fixed all at once.

Victor is so sweet and kind and wonderful that some days, Yuuri still doesn’t believe he deserves this man. Still can’t believe that this isn’t some dream that’ll end as soon as he makes a mistake, but somehow Victor always finds a way to prove him wrong.

It’s a mess again.

Yuuri’s a giant mess. There’s flour and sticky batter everywhere, his glasses are probably dirty again, and the dough still refuses to be a perfectly smooth dough and goodness, this isn’t what Yuuri thought would happen at all.

But then there’s Victor pulling him closer until Yuuri is safe and warm in a hug, gentle hands rubbing soothing circles on his back and Victor’s low voice whispering reassurances in his ear, and it’s better than anything Yuuri could have imagined. Victor smells like aftershave and freshly laundered clothes and feels so much like home that Yuuri doesn’t ever want to be anywhere but inside his arms. Yuuri’s so tired. God, he’s so, so tired.

“Thank you,” Yuuri manages to croak out as he holds on and hides his face against Victor’s shoulder. “Thank you, thank you.”

“It’s okay,” Victor soothes, kissing his hair, kissing his temple, kissing Yuuri wherever he can reach, “I’ve got you, honey. I’ve got you.”

They reach a standstill with Yuuri’s face plastered against Victor’s shirt and Victor with his mouth pressed into Yuuri’s hair, both of them breathing slowly, quiet and soft in the middle of the kitchen. The tears stop soon and make Yuuri’s eyes feel sore and tired but god does it feel cathartic to let it out.

Finally, Yuuri shifts in place and raises his head just a little, enough to look at Victor. “Thank you,” he says again, breaking the silence.

“Anytime, _solnyshko._ I’m here for you.” Victor glances down at Yuuri and smiles. Then, as if remembering something, he furrows his eyebrows. “Is this about the glasses?” Victor asks seriously, still confused about the situation. “Because you know, it really isn’t a big deal to me. I’ll clean them for you every day if it’s what you want, Yuuri. Are they being a hassle? Should I buy you contacts instead—”

Yuuri barks out a wet laugh, blinking wetness away from his eyelashes. There he goes again. How can Victor turn such simple words into the most touching statements and do it with a straight face?

“Is it about the glasses?” Victor asks insistently, a hint of whining making its way to his voice the more Yuuri grins at him. “Yuuri. Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuuuuriiii, answer meeeee.”

Yuuri shakes his head, smiling a real smile for the first time since the day began, and pulls Victor down for a proper kiss. They taste like tears and flour but Yuuri can feel the adoration from the Victor presses in for more, lips soft and hands warm as he curls around Yuuri out of habit.

When they part, Yuuri lets out a sigh and rests his forehead against Victor’s. “It’s not the glasses,” Yuuri tells with a smile that says it doesn’t matter anymore, “but it's fine now. Thank you for asking anyway. You’re too sweet.”

“Not true,” Victor defends, even as he cuddles Yuuri impossibly closer. Yuuri laughs. “I’m the right amount of sweet.”

Yuuri grins. “Too sweet,” he whispers.

In response, Victor kisses him again until they’re both laughing and covered in flour and dough and Yuuri has never felt happier.

 

 

 

 

 

(Later, Yuuri will still bake the stupid dough and it will still come out as a stupid, dry bread. But Victor will exclaim “Wow!” and take pictures of it to post on his Instagram anyway as they cuddle on the couch with Makkachin, so for now, Yuuri simply smiles and lets it go.)

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by haedraulic's fan art (http://haedraulics.tumblr.com/post/164235525655/its-not-about-the-glasses-hc-that-victor). They're an amazing artist, so make sure to check out their blog!


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